


i am a fleck of paint on your canvas; you are an eruption on mine

by iscoalarcon



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, angst maybe, attack of the second person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2014-11-28
Packaged: 2018-02-27 08:49:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2686655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iscoalarcon/pseuds/iscoalarcon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You wouldn’t call it love, but you wouldn’t call it friendship either. It was more than that but less at the same time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i am a fleck of paint on your canvas; you are an eruption on mine

**Author's Note:**

> s/o to my main ((tara that's u)) for editing this and forcing me to post it. title taken from http://girlonfired.tumblr.com/post/97920168804/i-am-a-fleck-of-paint-on-your-canvas-you-are-an
> 
> this is my first fic in the football fandom and a result of 3am tears over james' big crush on cris so. sorry if it sucks.
> 
> (disclaimer: this is fake)

It started like this.

It felt like an ending of a prayer, the way he touched your shoulder oh-so-slightly, a pat on the back, a _good job kid_ , and you felt like you were suffocating. It was ok though, because you thought that you would be content to feel this way forever even if it was like your life was being dragged out of your body inch by painful inch.

You were exaggerating. His touch didn’t feel like death and you were not suffocating. You were short of breath, perhaps, but that was nothing new and you had had asthma as a kid so you were used to the feeling. He wasn’t your end and you weren’t his end and maybe you thought he could be your beginning or you could be his. You didn’t know what you thought; half the time there were just words spinning around in your head and connecting them together to form a coherent string was a hard task, especially when you were around him.

So no, he wasn’t killing you and no, he wasn’t giving you life but it was nice anyway, being near him. You figured out that sometimes it’s like that; sometimes it’s not earth-shaking or universe-splitting or ground-breaking. Sometimes it’s just nice.

You wouldn’t call it love, but you wouldn’t call it friendship either. It was more than that but less at the same time. You didn’t like labels so you didn’t. Label this feeling, that is. You just kept on as you were, having a kick about and laughing and shoving each other and maybe if you noticed how brown his eyes were, like chocolate but better, and maybe if you noticed how sculpted his legs were, like a greek statue but better, then. Well. Then.

You supposed that that was an accurate summary of your life: _then._ The word “then” followed by a period. Nothing could come after it because this, this _thing_ , wouldn’t turn into anything so the sentence stopped. And that was fine. It was just a silly crush anyway. Just a schoolboy crush.

Everyone saw it, the way you looked up to him. You couldn’t stop and you didn’t want to. Sometimes you wondered if he knew and then you realized that he probably did and you blushed but it was ok, it was better this way. It was better if he knew because he wasn’t acting on it so that meant that he didn’t feel anything except friendship and that’s nice, that’s good, because you couldn’t, realistically, have anything other than friendship. Also if he knew but wasn’t doing anything about it, it was less painful. There was no direct confrontation. There was no blatant rejection. He ignored it and you ignored it and everyone ignored it until one of your teammates caught you looking at him with wide eyes and they would elbow you and toss you a knowing, almost sad, smirk and you would color and laugh a bit, trying to cover it up but really covering it up was useless because everyone could see through you anyway.

-:-

So it was like this.

You were six years younger than him and that’s not that big of an age difference when you think about it. You were six years younger than him and you had been happily married to a girl you loved for three years and you had the cutest baby ever and you adored her and her mom. You were six years younger than him and had a family and a great job and a perfect life and you couldn’t figure out why this was a thing, but it was, and you couldn’t stop thinking about him some nights.

You told yourself that it was hero-worship, that it would fade with time. Sometimes you lay awake at night and face your wall and think about his smile and how the papers got it all wrong, so wrong. He wasn’t arrogant or shallow or self-centered. He was the best person you’ve ever met and he was so down to earth and humble and funny and fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

-:-

You were asked who your best friends on the squad were during an interview once. You said his name immediately and laughed a bit, trying to cover up your quick response, and continued on. The interviewer looked at you and he knew and you shouldn’t be surprised that he knew. You were never good at hiding things. He asked you more questions about your team and your friends and him. It always came back to him and for once, you didn’t feel so bad rambling on about his skills or personality.

-:-

It was fading, you convinced yourself.

Once you had gotten to know him and you became friends, your schoolboy crush faded away. Sure, you still admired him. Sure, you still looked up to him because his skills were superior and he had more talent and practice than you. Sure, you still thought he was handsome and fit because anyone with eyes could see that was the truth. Sure, you still sat next to him on the plane whenever possible so you could let your head rest against his shoulder as you pretended to sleep. Sure, you still cared for him. Sure, your hero-worship crush had faded.

-:-

It was raining one day after training and you were on your way to your car to drive home and spend the evening with your daughter and wife. You were tired, but content.

As you were walking to the parking lot, you saw him, crouching down in front of a crying boy and giving him a hug and asking him a question. The boy’s face lit up and his tears slowed down and you were not over your crush, you were not over him, you never would be because he would go and do things like this, he would go and make a little boy’s day just because he was that type of person and you hated how everyone thought he was something other than he was, you wanted to shake the world and scream because how could they not see what you saw? How could they not see that this man was wonderful and amazing and kindhearted and. Fuck.

You got into your car and ignored your trembling hands.

-:-

You knew that he was not your end and he was not your beginning and you thought that maybe he was your middle and isn’t that the most important part? The middle is where all the character development happens and where all the action takes place and heartbreak and love and. And.

You were a sentence, maybe a paragraph, in his book and that was ok, you thought, that was ok, because sometimes all you need is a mention or acknowledgement to feel complete and a sentence or paragraph was more than you deserved anyway.

You were a tiny part of his life, but you were a part and you could live with that.

He was not your whole life and he never would be but he was a more than a sentence or a paragraph, he was probably a chapter or maybe even two.

You were ok with him meaning more to you than you meant to him because that’s how life works out sometimes and you can live with that and you can live with yourself and be happy with your beautiful wife and your adorable daughter. You didn’t need more than that but sometimes. Sometimes you wanted.

It was just a little crush that you would forget about eventually, maybe a couple months down the road or some years later, after he retired.

(It never did fade, it was always in the back of your mind just a fleeting thought every now and again but it never faded and you always knew that, you knew that it never would.)

Some people are more important to us than we are to them and it’s ok. We can live with that as long as we mean _something_ to them.

You never realized and you would never know that you were more than just a sentence or a paragraph in his book, you did not and never would understand that you meant more to him then he meant to you (you never thought that was possible).

His life was a series of books and he thought that he could probably dedicate a whole installment to you and the way you smiled and how you celebrated a goal and the way you cursed when you got frustrated and the way you were with kids and the way you loved and loved and loved and the way you made him feel.

It gets flipped around, sometimes.

It’s just a stupid crush, you thought but you didn’t know and you would never know that he felt the same way and in an alternative universe something could’ve happened and then. Then.

It always ends in an unknown. And then.

You were the sun and he was the moon and you were never meant to be together and you both recognized that fact and went on and were happy but maybe not as happy as you would’ve been together. However, you’ll never find out because some things are just not meant to be and you two were one of those things.


End file.
